


Friends of Foggy's Past

by Lios



Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Adulthood, Disability, Family, Friendship, Illnesses, Kid Fic, Lost Love, Photographs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27209218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lios/pseuds/Lios
Summary: Foggy Nelson never ever mentioned Matthew Murdock despite the fact that he was his best friend through college and his first ever business partner.Madison Nelson is determined to understand why.
Relationships: Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Marci Stahl, Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 54





	Friends of Foggy's Past

**Author's Note:**

> Another one that has been sitting on my hard-drive for a long time and I thought, why not post it? All mistakes are my own. Set after the Daredevil series all vague because I cannot do maths but as highlighted in the story, somewhere between 16-20 years post the second series, with a few familiar faces thrown in or alluded to. 
> 
> It didn't end quite as I expected so if I get a fit of inspiration I may write a little more to continue it! We shall see. Thanks for clicking and if you feel up to it, I'd love to read a review!

The rumour that Marci Stahl was getting married for a third time broke the internet on a slow news day in late June. The story spread from TMZ to Fox News almost as fast as a naked picture hacking scandal, complete with its own (albeit more decent) photographs of Marci with a huge rock on the expected finger. Seeing Marci’s face all over my Facebook feed is always a culture shock and is about as pleasant as reading the speculations about her sex life on click-bait articles that I just can’t _not_ open. The truth is that I’ve never needed a journalist who struggles to distinguish ‘your’ from ‘you’re’ to tell me what she does and does not like in bed (and occasionally out of it). Marci has always been gory and graphic in her details; descriptions that will traumatise my little brain for the rest of my long life.

Marci had, after all, appointed herself the sole deliverer of the ‘ _sex education of the best kind’_ she decided I needed around the time I started haemorrhaging once a month. She insisted that it was better for me to find out from her rather than ‘ _via weird erotica on Tumblr’_ which I suppose is fair in a way. Dad had put up the lamest protest considering that he is, in fact, a Defence Attorney, citing corruption and contamination of my innocence and morality. In all honesty, he was not wrong but I struggle to understand what else he expected when he invited Marci to play such a huge role in both of our lives. Marci Stahl is brilliant and beautiful but lacks the filter most humans have that prevents them from saying exactly what they mean in any given life situation. She’s been that way for at least as long as I’ve been alive and Dad claims to know her far longer than that. Case in point, Dad – you should have seen that coming.

As the Google Alert came through, I tossed my cell phone at Dad’s hands. He fumbled with it for a second before bringing it closer to his face, too lazy to reach for his glasses. I climbed out of the uncomfortable chair I was burrowed in and walked over to the bedside table. I popped the glasses on his face, brushing strands of his hair out of the way. He stuck his tongue out in response, still reading the news-breaking article. He snorted.

“This is quality journalism,” he said, amusement obvious in his tone. I smiled, settling onto the end of his bed. I swung my legs off the edge, fingers twisting in the blanket for support.

“I guess now we know why the sudden trip to Europe was necessary,” I replied, thinking back to how excited Marci had been at the prospect of a last-minute holiday. “Did you know about this?”

“Me?” asked Dad, feigning a kind of innocence. “I actually didn’t. Honestly. I tried calling her when,” he gestured at his chest and legs with his free hand, “ _this_ happened but she didn’t answer.” 

My eyes wandered to the little screen by his head, casually reading the figures and feeling a little comforted that they hadn’t dropped or risen from the normal limits the nurse had showed me. “You’re not insulted that he didn’t ask for your blessing?” I questioned, poking his good leg with a playful finger. Dad laughed loudly.

“My blessing? Geez, I know Marci likes to say that you’re like sisters but I’m not actually _her_ father you know. They don’t need my blessing. Besides, only a man with a death wish would pretend he has any say in Marci’s life decisions. And I like my balls attached, thanks.”

Dad held the phone out to me, seemingly finished consuming the gossip material. I took it back, checking quickly that he had actually been reading the piece and not messing with my social media (again). I slipped the phone into my pocket, glancing back up to find Dad watching me closely through his large lenses.

“You know,” I said slowly, choosing my words carefully. “I didn’t think Marci would ever get married again. At least not to someone who wasn’t you.”

Dad reared back as if I’d burned him, groaning in pretend mortal pain and waving his arms in the space in front of him. I rolled my eyes at first, refusing to find it funny but then my traitorous sense of humour betrayed me and I giggled, forcing him to laugh as well.

“Been there, done that,” he said, panting slightly as he spoke before catching his breath. The machines in the background beeped loudly until a nurse stuck her head through the door, noticed us laughing and pressed a switch on the wall. “Not a disaster I’d like to repeat. Marci and I could never get married. One of us would be in the morgue and the other would be in court defending against a homicide charge. I’d like to think that would be me, the latter, but I’m not stupid. We both know that Marci would definitely get me first.”

I smiled back at his shocked expression because in a way he’s right. Marci is vicious when she wants or needs to be and very proud of that fact. Dad would never stand a chance if she was out to get him. The suggestion that they’d kill each other is the same one anyone who asks Dad or Marci about their relationship would get. They’re almost proud to say it, like _“here’s my best friend, we hate each other”_. It’s true that they argue fiercely over everything, probably most commonly me, but despite the threats neither one of them is a danger to the other. In reality, Marci Stahl is the best friend Dad has ever had. The honour swings both ways because Marci doesn’t have very many friends despite all of the people interested in her business and no doubt already trying to swing an upcoming wedding invite.

“I know,” I admitted honestly, “I just thought that maybe you two would get desperate and lonely in your older age and realise that the perfect match was there all along between the two of you.”

Dad laughed again, leaning forward to reach and take one of my hands in his. He tangled our fingers together and stared down at them. “You make my life sound like a trashy rom-com. Do you want my life to be a rom-com?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, you’d fit the character criteria pretty well. You’ve got a great job and lots of money in the bank. You live in a nice apartment in a good area. Oh and the real hook: you’re a single father to your beautiful and amazing daughter. Chicks dig men with cute kids.”

“Well in that case I should trade you in for a younger model. At fifteen you’re getting a bit old to be called _cute_. And you’ve already been ruined by Marci. You’d intimidate rather than draw in any women who might possibly be interested.”

He wasn’t exactly wrong. Dad hasn’t bothered trying to date anytime in the past decade and if he had I can’t say how well I would have reacted. I have incredibly high standards (Marci’s fault) and have never sought a replacement for my mum. Since she died, Marci has been doing an ok job at providing some form of a strong and stable female influence in my life.

“Anyways,” said Dad, drawing my attention away from my thoughts and to him. “That physiotherapist woman thinks I might need to walk with a cane from now on. Surely that ruins my eligible bachelor status a bit more.”

My fingers tightened around Dad’s hand and I scoffed back half-heartedly. Tears were threatening to spill out of my eyes again but I forced them back. “No that just ups your bachelor cred. You know, like the classic wounded puppy look. And for the record, I wouldn’t try to ruin any of your potential relationships. Not if you really liked the person. I can be nice.”

“I know, honey.”

Our cute family moment was ruined when the medical team entered the room, doctors ignoring my presence in order to greet Dad and fire questions at him. Squeezing his hand once, I let go and slipped off the bed. I snuck out of the room, practically invisible to the group who huddled around the bed. Standing in the corridor, I pulled out my cell again. It took me a few seconds to have it call Marci. I leant against the white wall, waiting for the signal to connect. She answered on the sixth ring.

“ _Maddie Nelson this had better be good_ ,” came the voice through the speaker. “ _I don’t have time for your shit.”_

I didn’t answer immediately, causing her to repeat my name worriedly. Feeling a little dizzy, I rubbed my forehead with a shaking hand. “I’ve been trying to call you for ages.”

_“My phone has been blowing up all day, I just got engaged you know. What’s up?”_

“It’s Dad,” I said, my shaking voice enough to silence Marci’s fast talking. “He’s in hospital again. He’s had another relapse.”

* * *

“I don’t think Dad even owns pyjamas,” I yelled, hoping Marci could hear me from wherever she was busy snooping. “Unless he’s gone through a mid-life crisis that I don’t know about and he’s decided he’ll act like a not-embarrassing human being?”

Hearing a snort, I craned my neck to turn away from the closet and see Marci, who had poked her head into the room. She was watching me wobble on the bed ledge I was standing on with raised eyebrows. “His dress sense has only gotten worse since you went to school. I’ve been trying to convince him to splash out on one of those fancy AI systems that can run your household and tell you what not to wear and all but he’s still paranoid that robots are going to eat us or something. But check everywhere, I bought him expensive silk PJs last year. They’re probably buried under a pile of other clothes I got him that he refuses to wear.”

I laughed, continuing to pull out folded sweaters and jeans and dumping them on the bed behind me. “It’s _Skynet_.”

“It’s what?” said Marci, sitting on the edge of the mattress and taking out her phone.

“ _Skynet_ , from _The Terminator,”_ I said, hands landing on the silk pyjamas Marci had mentioned. They were still folded together with the store ribbon and the tag was attached. Typical Dad. “Grandpa showed him when he was real small and since then he’s been scared of robots and AI and stuff.”

Marci hummed in her spot, a good indication that she had probably stopped listening to me. I flung the pyjamas at her head, feeling very satisfied when she shrieked in surprise back. 

“What a waste,” she lamented after a few seconds, examining the clothing. “Remind me to never buy anything for your father again.”

“That’s cool,” I replied. “You can just spend all your millions on me instead.”

I turned back to the closet, still searching for anything that might be useful to Dad. My hands knocked against a hard object towards the back of the compartment. I stopped for a second. I had no idea what else Dad had stashed in with his clothes and the question was, did I _want_ to know. Deciding that god damn it I did, I pushed some more clothing aside, grasped the object and pulled it out. It was just a photo album. Relatively boring and safe all potential secret wardrobe items considered. Unless it contained some kind of weird sexual photos that would no doubt scar my eyes for eternity.

“Have you seen this before?” I asked Marci, jumping down off the bed and walking around to stand beside her. She glanced up at my face before looking to the red book and smiling.

“No. What’s in it?”

I sat down beside her on the bed and set the book in my lap. “Must be photos.”

She rolled her eyes and tapped me on the head. “No shit, Captain Obvious. I meant photos of what?”

“I dunno, I’ve never seen it either. The only person I know with something like this is Grandma. Along with her other relics from the dark ages.”

Marci slapped me lightly across the back of my head, laughing at my words. She reached down and tugged the album in my lap so that it was slightly closer to her and opened the cover, flipping through a few empty pages to the first pictures.

“Awww,” she cooed, pointing at a picture of Dad sometime in his toddler years, sitting up with a happy smile and a horrific canary yellow outfit that only Grandma could be responsible for. “Look at that fat little baby.”

She wasn’t wrong about the fat part. Dad had been educated in the art of loving food early on in life. Whenever he complained that it wasn’t his fault he was overweight, he was sort of right. He hadn’t stood a chance being raised in that house of feeders.

I grinned. “He was really cute.”

“Yeah, shame it didn’t last, huh?”

We spent some time looking through the photos from Dad’s childhood, laughing at some of the poses and candid shots, the outfits and the weird rocker phase he hit in his teenage years. About five or six pages in, we arrived at the college years.

“Oh my god!” squealed Marci, hands landing on the book and covering a photo. I shoved her playfully and pulled her fingers away until I uncovered the picture of her, sitting across Dad’s lap with a cocktail in one hand, two fingers up on the other and her tongue sticking out.

“Oh my god,” I repeated, laughing hysterically at the photograph. “That is the best thing ever. I can’t believe you let someone take that.”

“I thought I looked cool,” she moaned, running her hands through her hair. “Let that be a lesson to you. Whenever you think you look cool you’re actually mortifying. Look at my _hair_.”

“I mean it’s not that bad,” I said, tracing a finger down the picture border. “I just had no idea you liked poodles so much that you wanted to look like one.”

I dodged away from her hands which tried to push me off the bed, laughing loudly. After a minute or so of gasping for breath, I let her throw an arm around my waist and pull me closer to her until our bodies touched. She kept her arm in the same position but pushed her hand forward until she could use it to reach for the album and turn its pages. I put my head on her shoulder as she pointed through the rest of the funny photos of her and Dad, filling me in on ancient gossip about some of the other people featured in them. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sat like this with Marci. She wasn’t someone who loved physical affection and would frequently say so. But she used to sit me on her lap all of the time when I was a little kid and sometimes I think she misses being able to do so.

When we hit the last picture in the book, Marci stopped right in the middle of a stream of commentary that had been falling out of her mouth. I nudged her gently, turning my head with a grin to look at her face. She was wearing a small frown which she quickly changed into a smile when she caught me looking.

“Are you not going to tell me about this one?” I probed, looking down at the photograph again. There stood Dad again, looking to be somewhere in his college youth. He had a huge smile and his eyes were small, as if the photographer had caught him laughing. In one gloved hand he was holding a six pack of beer and the other was resting on the shoulder of a man I didn’t recognise. He hadn’t been in any of the other pictures we’d looked at. If he had been, I surely would have remembered. His face, which had a more reserved smile, was incredibly attractive and I was certain that beneath the winter coat he was wearing was probably a hot body as well. “Where has this sweet guy been hiding my whole life?”

Marci snorted. “That’s Matthew Murdock,” she said finally, as if that was supposed to mean something to me. It didn’t. I told her so and she hesitated for a second again before replying.

“He was in law school with us. He and your dad were good friends for a few years. Best friends, really.”

It was my turn to frown. “He’s never mentioned him.”

“Foggy doesn’t like to talk about it. Things didn’t end very well between them, I don’t think he’s even seen him since before you were born. God, I haven’t thought of Matt in years.”

“What happened?”

“If you want to know that you can work up the balls to ask your Dad that yourself. It’s none of my business.”

“Oh, come on, Marc. That never ever stops you gossiping!”

“It does this time. I learned my lesson years ago not to get involved in matters relating to Murdock. Things always get messy.”

Frustrated with her sudden lack of information, I broke free of her hold and fell back on the bed with a groan. She slapped my knees and stood up, dusting invisible dirt off her trousers.

“Get your lazy ass up,” she said, picking up a pillow and tossing it at my face. “We told your father we’d be gone an hour and it’s been close to three.”

“But I need time to process this information,” I protested weakly. She didn’t answer me, choosing instead to just clack out of the room on her ridiculous stilettos. With a huff, I got up and started throwing Dad’s pyjamas and a few other bits into a bag quickly. I was about to leave the room when I spotted the photo album sitting on the bed from where Marci had dropped it. I reached down and picked it up flicking to the last page in order to get a glimpse of the picture again. The plastic sheet was empty, the photograph missing.

“That sly bitch!”

* * *

As Marci would have expected, I didn’t have the balls to ask Dad about his ex-friend. Since I was a little kid, I’ve always seen Dad as a bit emotionally fragile. He’s not good at lying and he can’t keep a secret for shit and he looks so upset when he finds out people lie and keep secrets. He always has this same expression on his face that is seriously the closest human thing to a wounded puppy. It’s not a good expression and you know you’ve fucked up when you see it. Judging from Marci’s reaction to that picture, I figured that asking about the highly attractive Murdock man would probably bring back the face I’d managed to avoid after that unfortunate drinking incident last year.

My resolve not to ask him makes it very hard to sit in his hospital room and look at him.

“You’ve been staring at me since you got back,” pointed out Dad, his tone teasing. “Everything ok?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to open my mouth without the words _Matthew Murdock_ coming out. He reached across the bed railing to place his hand on mine.

“I really am ok, you know. I’m not planning on going anywhere for a while.”

On that subject, it was hard to believe him with all the machines beeping beside him and wires coming out of different parts of his body. I nodded again.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he continued, squeezing my hand gently. “Not the way you thought you’d start your summer vacation, I bet? I don’t mind if you want to go back to school early.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “Dad, I’ve only been home for a week.”

“Yeah, I know. But no teenager wants to stay at home with their boring invalid father. I love having you home, but I don’t want you to have a crappy time with me. Not when you could be having a fun time back there.”

“I’m not going to leave you now just ‘cause you’re a bit sick, Dad. We’ve been preparing for this for ages, we knew it was gonna get a bit worse sometime. I just wish it didn’t have to.” I stared down at our hands. “I wish I had some great healing factor that would take away all your problems.”

Dad chuckled. “Really? Nah I wouldn’t want that for you. Anyone I’ve ever known that could do that has been a bit of a dickhead.”

He wasn’t wrong but that didn’t change the fact that I still would have traded a lot for the chance to make him better.

“Do you have any regrets?” I asked him suddenly, looking at his face to judge it properly for a reaction. He looked a bit confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Like big regrets from your life? Things you wished had happened differently. Mistakes you’d go back in time and fix if you had the chance.”

He nodded slowly, seeming to understand my question now. “Just to clarify, you know I’m not dying right?”

“Yeah, Dad, we’ve established that already.”

“Ok, just checking. Because this is a deep kind of question that I kind of associate with people being about to die.”

“Or maybe when they’re just really old and have had a long life.”

“Hah, you’re hilarious. Thanks, my ego continues to grow from all of your emotional support. But to answer your deep philosophical question: no, I don’t think so.”

“Really?” He didn’t seem like he was lying. I was half expecting he would hint at regretting that supposed former friendship of his. Maybe it wasn’t as best-friendy as Marci had thought.

“Yeah. I mean there were things I could have handled differently. Some crap that happened when I was a lot younger that I regretted for a long while. But I got over it. Maybe if I hadn’t fucked up I would never have had you. And you, and god forgive me but Marci too, are the best things that ever happened to me. So I could never miss what I lost before I had you.”

There are tears in my eyes but only because it’s been a long forty eight hours. “You’re such a sap,” I told him. But he is also so incredibly lovely. It is a miracle Dad’s stayed single for so many years. You’d think thousands of American women would be dying to snap up a man with such emotional intelligence _and_ some money.

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you surround yourself with too many women.”

* * *

As Marci wouldn’t tell me, and I’m too chicken shit to ask Dad, I did the first thing any other child of my generation would do: I googled him.

Putting in _Matthew Murdock_ on its own threw back thousands of irrelevant hits so I added in _NYC_ pretty quickly. There was so little of it that was new or up to date. The man didn’t even seem to have a website or LinkedIn account beyond a ‘ _this site is under construction’_ notice on one mmurdockattorney.com URL. There were of course hundreds of links to small time articles and the occasional _Bugle_ write up. I skimmed through a couple of them before realising they did little except label the man as the named defence attorney. From the few I did read, I started to understand the kinds of cases Murdock took on: the hopeless. It wasn’t very frequently that the journalists reported him actually winning his cases.

After twenty minutes or so of reading, I changed my attack.

_Matthew Murdock and Franklin Nelson_

The results were instantly more interesting, though there wasn’t a huge amount about them. All the links and articles that popped up were from around the same time in 2014 which was way before I was conceived and therefore many millennia ago. They referred to Murdock and Dad as law firm partners who had aided in a takedown of corrupt mobster Wilson Fisk.

That bit made me pause, staring at a picture attached to one article of Dad looking much younger and very serious beside Murdock. I knew who Wilson Fisk was without having to search for him, even though he had been dead for a while now. He had made a more international name for himself fighting costumed heroes sometime after 2014. I remember watching YouTube clips of him versus Spider-man when I was really young. Dad hadn’t let on in any way that he knew anything more about the villain at the time, or on any other occasion his name has made its way into conversation.

There wasn’t much else of use available online other than a couple more photos I’d never seen, including of a run-down building in Hell’s Kitchen that must have been their office. Looking at the state of it, it was hard to imagine Dad had ever worked there. Logically I knew that he had to have started somewhere as a young lawyer, and Grandma and Grandpa were definitely not rich enough to set him up. But for as long as I can remember, Dad has been one of the most successful attorneys in the city with fancy premises in Midtown Manhattan. I’d never really thought before about how exactly he’d ‘made it’, and now I was questioning it even more.

When the internet failed me, there could only be one source left to turn to.

“It’s ok, Grandma, I already had my lunch today.”

The woman flapped around the kitchen, piecing together a huge sandwich despite my words.

“Stop that. It’s my constitutional right as your grandmother to feed you,” said Grandma, layering cheese on top of thick cut ham.

“I don’t think that’s actually in the constitution.”

“Of course it is, darling. It’s right next to the part where you’ll find written _I don’t care, kiss my butt._ Do you want mayo? _”_

I grinned at her, shaking my head at the same time. Fifteen years she has been trying to push her love for mayo on me. It ain’t ever happening.

I did as I was told and sat down at the kitchen table to eat. She sat across from me with her own latte, made fresh from the machine Dad and I got her for Christmas last year.

“I’m so glad you’re back home, pet,” she said affectionately, watching me eat the sandwich. “I’ll never forgive your father for sending you so far away from us.”

That was Grandma: always dramatic.

“It’s a good school and I like it a lot,” I reminded her, using the exact same words I had done every time she had phoned me over the last year.

I was relieved that she didn’t start into her usual argument of pointing out all the good schools that existed in the city. Dad and I had agreed that it would be a disaster to tell her the real reason I’d chosen to go to a boarding school, but every time she nagged me about it the truth was on the tip of my tongue.

Grandma hummed and didn’t say much for a couple of minutes. When she spoke again, the topic changed completely. “I was speaking with Marci just before you got here. She said that the doctors reckoned Franklin will be fit for home soon, isn’t that great?”

The doctors had been saying that pretty much since Dad had gone into the hospital. Dad was starting to go crazy that almost a week in, nobody had actually discharged him. “Yeah, that is good.”

“I saw Marci’s new ring on _E_ too. I had no idea she was thinking of getting married again, did you? I thought she had learned it just wasn’t for her after the last asshole she married ran off with his ex-wife.”

I went along with the conversation for a while, nodding at the appropriate moments and feeding Grandma little bits of information she would no doubt share with her book club. Grandma liked Marci enough that it wasn’t awkward when they had to mingle together, but I think she liked being able to talk about Marci far more than she did actually talking to her. I didn’t mind giving away the little pieces about Marci to her – Grandma and her eighty year old friends weren’t going to hurt her reputation too severely.

“Can I ask you something else, Gran?” I asked, after our Marci-related chatter had died down and my sandwich was comfortably in my stomach. Grandma encouraged me warmly to keep talking.

“I was looking for clothes a couple days ago at home. For Dad, after he went into hospital obviously. I found a couple photographs of his from when he was at Columbia and I only realised then that I know practically nothing about that time in his life. You know he kind of doesn’t really talk about that middle part of his life. Most of the time, he just talks about his childhood or mine. But some of the pictures were really sweet.”

“I bet they were,” said Grandma. “He had a lot of fun in college. We were very proud of him. Nelsons had a habit of quitting after high school before Franklin, and well, some of them didn’t even make it that far!”

I’d heard that before of course. No pressure or anything to follow in my high-achieving parent’s footsteps. The greater Nelson family will fall into a state of depression when they see my application to clown college.

“I was just wondering about one of the people in the pictures with Dad,” I said slowly, wondering how best to bring the topic in. “A friend of his, but I’ve never heard Dad talk about him before. I think his name was Matthew?”

Grandma’s eyes lit up instantly and a dramatic hand flew to her chest. “Oh, you mean Matt,” she said. “Yes, they were best friends all throughout Columbia and for a while afterwards. You know, they had been offered positions at a really prestigious firm just as they finished their training, but Matt didn’t want to go with them. I remember them sitting in this kitchen, arguing about it. They used to come here a lot back then; they didn’t have enough money to feed themselves the right way so I used to have them over for lunches or dinners.”

Grandma got up from the table with a smile, disappearing from the kitchen without saying anything. She returned a couple minutes later, as I finished a level on _Candy Crush_. Grandma was holding a small blue photo album. She settled in the chair beside me and put the thing on the table between us. I reached out and opened it, stunned to find picture after picture of Dad and Matthew Murdock, in various positions and places, obviously taken over several years. Sometimes other people featured, like Marci, Grandma or Aunt Ellie, but most of the time it was just the two of them.

“Dad never ever talks about him,” I said thoughtfully, feeling even more confused and curious as to what had happened in the past. Grandma sighed back, sounding a little bittersweet.

“I don’t really know what happened between them. I know that in the months before they fell out, your dad wasn’t very happy with Matt. They stopped coming to visit me together, and if I asked about how he was, Franklin would snap at me. They did set up a law firm together and I always thought that maybe it was the stress of the business that tore them apart. I was quite upset about it all actually,” said Grandma. For a moment, it looked like she might cry. “Matt didn’t have any family of his own so we more or less adopted him into the Nelson brood. When he and Franklin stopped talking, it was almost like a death in the family.”

Our eyes were both drawn to one photo in particular. It was Dad and Murdock, sitting on the same sofa Grandma still had. They had Santa hats on their heads, and Murdock had gold tinsel wrapped around his throat. His eyes were closed tight and his mouth was smiling, one hand pointed at Dad as if he was giving out to him. Dad’s feet were curled underneath him on the sofa and he was staring at the other man instead of the camera.

It hit me at that moment, what had niggled at me since I saw the very first image of the two of them together. I couldn’t remember ever seeing Dad look at anyone else like that, with such open love written across his face. Marci and I got a different expression, that was definitely loving but not in this same, adoring kind of way. Mom and Dad had split up when I was a baby, so I had no chance of knowing if he ever looked at her like that.

“When was the last time you saw him?” I asked, somehow finding the words in my shock.

“I’m not sure,” replied Grandma. “A couple years before you came along, I guess. You know, I almost thought that I’d see him back here after you were born.”

“Why?”

“Well, your dad did name you after him. Oh, he’s never admitted it but it can’t have been an accident that you’re _Maddie_. When he told me what he’d called you, I thought it meant that they had become friends again…are you ok, dear?”

* * *

The words were out of my mouth before I had finished bursting through the door.

“Is Dad gay?”

The occupants of the room stared back at me. My eyes slowly rolled across three people I didn’t know until they finally hit Marci. She was sitting at her desk with papers in her hands and her glasses on, which was usually a sign that she was working. She put down the papers with a sigh and threw me a look.

“Sarah, Dave, Mo, can you go and get yourselves some coffees? If you want to go across the street, feel free, just somebody bring me back one.”

Marci’s employees got to their feet quickly without saying much and walked around me to leave the room. I think it was Dave that mouthed ‘thanks’ at me as he went past.

“Come on over,” said Marci, tapping the chair she kept next to her desk for visitors. I shrugged out of my denim jacket and chucked it up on the rack attached to the back of the door. My jacket looked pretty shitty in comparison to the formal blazer that was hanging there already.

“I’ve been telling you for years to knock before coming in here, Madison. I know you think I don’t have a real job, but that’s actually not true. You’ve interrupted serious business here.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, not overly sincere. “But I’m having a crisis.”

Marci rolled her eyes. “Your father’s sexuality is a crisis for him to have, not you.”

“ _Marci_ ,” I complained, flinging myself down on the chair beside her. “So it’s true?”

“No, your father’s not gay. I would know, I slept with him enough times and he was _very_ interested-” 

“ _Stop_ , that’s too much information, I don’t want to know about my parents’ sex life.”

“I don’t know, Maddie, you’re offering me conflicting information here. You say that, on one hand, but then on the other you come running in here questioning your dad’s heterosexuality!”

I buried my face in my hands. “I just saw something earlier that made me think that maybe he was into dudes, ok? And I thought if anyone would know it would be you. I mean, I can’t exactly ask him if he is or not. It’s offensive.”

“I will pay you thousands of dollars to watch you ask your father if he is gay or not.”

“ _No_ ,” I said determinedly, glaring at her. “You’ve just told me he’s not gay anyway so it doesn’t matter. Case closed.”

“Case not closed, girlo. He’s not gay, but he’s definitely bi.”

“You think so?”

“Well, obviously you do too. Go on, tell Auntie Marci what’s got you in a sweat.”

We stared at each other in awkward silence for about a minute. I knew she was going to be irritated by what I told her, and she knew I was going to irritate her. We had a deep and psychic connection like that.

“I went to Grandma’s.”

“Yeah, she called me to tell me you were going out. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I may have asked her about Matt Murdock?”

Marci’s face palm was almost instantaneous. Her head fell backwards. “Maddie!”

“Well, you weren’t telling me anything, and of course I wasn’t going to ask Dad. What else was I supposed to do? I wanted to know more!”

Marci let go of her face, rolling her eyes and swallowing quickly. “Your grandmother loved Matt. No doubt she told you about all the fun times they had together, and how heartbroken she was when they broke up.”

“Broke…broke up? They were going out?”

“Oh no, it was completely platonic but to listen to Foggy you’d swear he’d lost his girlfriend. It was break-up levels of drama. It took years for him to get over it, and honestly I think he only did because you came along and there’s nothing more distracting than a newborn crying at three AM.”

“Why did they…break up then?”

“Look,” said Marci, pulling her glasses off her face and running a hand through her blond hair. “No matter what else you’ve heard, Matt Murdock is an asshole. He was unreliable and disloyal and he ran your dad’s first business into the ground. Foggy was lucky he didn’t lose his license to practice with Matt around. Matt had this kind of charm that made people instantly trust in him in the same way a good con artist does. I don’t know what his deal was, but he was definitely mixed up in some shit he shouldn’t have been. I really struggled to be friends with Foggy in his last few months with Matt. It was like watching someone in an abusive relationship.”

The words are harshly accurate and they make me flinch. Poor Dad, it was hard to imagine anyone treating him so horribly.

“When was the last time you saw him?” I asked, repeating my question from earlier at her.

Marci shrugged. “I’m not sure, it’s probably been nearly twenty years Maddie. Had I stayed in law, maybe I would’ve crossed paths with him. Foggy used to see him once every couple years when you were young through work, but I don’t think even he has seen him now for a long time.”

I nodded, taking in everything that she had just said.

“Maddie?” said Marci, leaning forward and grabbing my chin in her hand. She held it almost painfully still. “Don’t do anything stupid about this.”

I started to complain about being called stupid, but she put her hand over my mouth to stop me.

“I’m painfully aware you have your father’s DNA. Leave this to die, it’s already been resting for twenty years, you have no business stirring it all up again. I _mean_ it. Matt Murdock is not the kind of man I want you chasing or investigating or whatever else might cross your mind. Ok?”

I pause for a moment to prepare myself for the lie. “Ok.”

* * *

Often when I visited Dad in his hospital room, he had a visitor. Most of the time it was family who waved me in, or Marci, or a healthcare worker that showed me how to help Dad do something like get out of bed by himself. Occasionally it was someone from work, either seeking guidance for a decision that needed to be made or bringing yet another gift for him. Two and a half weeks in, I found another type of visitor.

Spider-man sat on the window sill, apparently babbling away to Dad as I slipped in the doorway.

They must have been deep in conversation because neither noticed I was there until I coughed. Dad’s head whipped around to say hello, but my eyes were stuck on the superhero in the room.

“Oh look, it’s a lady who should not know I am here. Whoopsie. Any chance you’ll believe this is a hallucination?” came the slightly muffled voice from across the room.

“No,” I replied. Dad started laughing.

“It’s ok, no harm done,” he said, waving a dismissive hand at Spider-man. “Dude, this is my daughter, Maddie. Are you going to come over and say hello, darling?”

I walked slowly over to Dad, eyes still going suspiciously between him and the bug. It wasn’t exactly a huge surprise that Dad knew Spider-man. It was a well known fact that Dad’s firm represented people with powers and good intentions for free. I had spotted a couple of famous faces and bodies in his offices before. That didn’t stop the little hint of betrayal that hit me when I thought about how _Spider-man_ knew my Dad and he never told me. I’d asked Dad to send an invitation to him for my sixth birthday party, which was Spider-man themed. I clearly remember Dad telling me he couldn’t because Spider-man didn’t have an address.

I kissed Dad on the forehead when I reached him, glancing again at Spider-man who still hovered awkwardly by the window.

“Nice to meet you, I guess,” I said, proud at how indifferent I sounded. I mean yeah, I may have been obsessed with him ten years ago, but I was long over that.

Spider-man scratched at the back of his head. “Wow, I’m really winning the popularity contest in here.” He saluted at Dad, and pulled up the window with one hand without turning to look at it. “Thanks for the help, man. Happy recovery, Foggy.”

He didn’t wait for Dad to reply before he tumbled out of the window. I couldn’t help but rush over to watch him activate some webbing and swing away from the hospital. It was hard not to be impressed by that.

“What’s wrong with you?” asked Dad. I left the window and went back over to sit beside him. He was smiling at me. “You used to love Spider-man, I thought you would be tripping all over yourself to talk to him.”

“When I was like six, Dad! I’m over it. The Human Torch has been my number one for at least three years now.”

“You know they’re like best friends, right?”

I did not. “Can you ask Spider-man to give you his number for me then? We would be so _hot_ together.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “No, I cannot. Johnny Storm is way too old for you and even if he wasn’t my nerves would never cope with having him around.”

We both grinned at each other, a mental image arising for me of Dad swatting a superhero around our kitchen with a rolled up newspaper.

“What did Spider-man want with you then?” I asked curiously.

“He just wanted some advice.”

“Did he break a law?”

“No, he’s getting a divorce. I told him it wasn’t my area of specialty, but you know how some people don’t really care. Once you’re a lawyer, they’ll ask you anyway.”

That was funny, because if there was anything Dad hated it was being involved in divorce proceedings. He’d acted as a representative for Aunt Ellie throughout hers out of loyalty, but usually refused to help people with them. He said that the work was just too depressing. I found this hilarious, coming from a defence attorney who usually worked on murder and serious assault charges.

“That’s a bit rough. I’ve never really thought about superheroes getting divorces before.”

“Well, you should,” said Dad. “It’s way more common than you’d think. Superheroing lifestyles don’t lend themselves to commitment very well. Something for you to keep in mind.”

He gave me a serious look as he finished talking. To his credit, Dad had never tried to dissuade me from any kind of future lifestyles, including that of a superhero. It was a parenting move expertly pulled – I couldn’t exactly go down a dark path and rebel against him if he gave me no reason to, could I? Sometimes I wished he would though. It would make for a better origin story.

I moved back towards Dad, sitting in my usual chair at his bedside. “So who else’s marriage is on the rocks? The Fantastics? Luke Cage and Jessica Jones? Oh god, it’s not Northstar’s is it? That relationship is the only one that makes me believe in true love.”

Dad rolled his eyes but kept smiling. “None of the above, at least not that I know about. Which doesn’t say much, really. I’m not exactly in on the superhero gossip grapevine.”

“You’re never any good for gossip,” I said, leaning forwards to poke him in the stomach. He growled and tried to grab my finger but I bounced back in time. “But just so you know, Dad. I’ll never forgive you if you _do_ find out something scandalous about a superhero’s sex life and don’t tell me before it hits TMZ.”

* * *

As I stood in the doorway of her office, she took one look at me.

“No,” she said, her tone non-negotiable.

“Oh, come on,” I whined, hovering between the wooden beams. She continued reading from the screen in front of her face, ignoring me.

“Marci phoned last week and told me to reject all of your requests with prejudice.”

“And you’re just going to do what she says?”

She glanced up at me again, narrowing her eyes. “That was a pathetic attempt at baiting me.”

I sighed, moving into the room to fling myself down on the rickety chair in front of her desk. I knew she could afford more expensive furniture considering her business was healthy but she had told me once that comfortable chairs encouraged clients to sit for longer. I had thought it was funny at the time but sitting in the cheap thing myself made me wish she’d bought something better.

“You don’t even know what I wanted to ask you for,” I pointed out.

“I don’t really need to know, kiddo. I know you well enough to know that whatever you’re asking for is not good news. How’s your social schedule looking this week?”

I folded my arms across my chest. “If you _think_ I’m babysitting for you when you won’t do a favour for me-”

“That’s why I pay you in money and not favours.”

“Well maybe I’m changing my price. I know my value.”

I tried to stare her down but had to look away after ten seconds. It was impossible to beat her. “Who am I kidding?” I asked dramatically, throwing my hands up in the air. “What night do you want me to watch them?”

She smiled shark-like at me, obviously delighted with herself. “Not until next Thursday. Luke’s friend is having a fiftieth birthday party and I don’t particularly want to go but he’s blackmailing me into making an appearance.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Fiftieth?”

“Yeah, you really feel old when you stop getting invited to twenty-firsts and thirtieths. It’s all downhill after the wedding invitations start.”

“I’ll look after them then, for the usual price.”

We shook hands across the table seriously. I settled again in my seat, reluctant to leave but having little else to say. She continued working while I watched her, mentally running through my other options now that she had rejected me. After twenty minutes or so of silence she stopped and glared at me.

“Your staring is throwing me off my work.”

“Sorry,” I said absently, not actually feeling very sorry.

“What was it?”

“What was what?”

“The thing that you wanted me to investigate, what was it?”

“Didn’t Marci tell you?”

She rolled her eyes. “All she said was that you were looking to get yourself in trouble and that she told you to quit it but that knowing you, you probably wouldn’t. Which means that you’ve probably spent the entire time you’ve sat there thinking about how you’ll investigate it yourself. So tell me. What is it?”

“I wanted to track down an old friend of Dad’s,” I told her.

“Why?”

“I wanted to meet him and potentially reunite Dad with him as a surprise?”

She gave me a long suffering look. “Surprises are always terrible ideas. Who is it?”

I hesitated before saying the name, feeling that as soon as I told her the secret it would be out and I couldn’t take it back. “Matthew Murdock?” It came out as more of a question than I had intended.

I’m not sure what reaction I expected her to have when I told her. She looked as steady and firm as she always did as she gazed at me, so sudden flinches or sharp changes to her facial expression. Still there was something in her eyes that made me believe she was surprised and a hint of recognition.

“You know him,” I said, realising it was true as the words came out of my mouth.

She looked away for a second before speaking. “It’s a small city and considering the nature of both of our jobs, it was only a matter of time before I’d meet him.”

It made sense, I thought. She had met Dad and Marci through her work as a private investigator, and Murdock was also a lawyer. Maybe he’d employed her similarly before. I spoke my thoughts aloud and her face changed minutely as if I’d made a great joke.

“Yeah, I met him through work,” she said casually, “I actually met him years before I met your dad, but we didn’t stay in contact. I don’t think I’ve seen him around in about a decade though.”

I felt disappointed. “So you wouldn’t know where to find him then?”

“I didn’t say that, did I? It’s like you think I’m shit at my job.”

She ripped a square off a sheet of paper and took a couple of seconds to write across it. She held it towards me then in the air, pulling it back slightly just as I went to take it off her.

“I’m going to give you this because I support the cause,” she started, “Marci hates Matt’s guts and thinks he’s the sum of all evil.”

“Is he?” I asked, feeling a little concerned.

“No. He’s not an angel, but he’s not what she thinks he is. If my wider friend circle hears back that I stopped you from making those two assholes see sense, I’ll have to listen to the bitching for the next twenty years or so.”

I gaped at her. “Did literally everyone know about their friendship except for me?”

“It was before your time and we know a lot of people in common because of the kind of…work we did.”

She handed over the paper. I looked at it quickly, taking in the address that was in Hell’s Kitchen to no real surprise after my internet searches.

“Thank you, Jessica,” I said earnestly, smiling widely at her. She rolled her eyes.

“I’ll see you on Thursday, and you’re doing that night for free.”

I saluted her with the piece of paper as I walked out the door, already putting the address into maps to figure out how to get there.

* * *

I didn’t go immediately to Hell’s Kitchen, despite the burning itch in me to do so and the path marked out on my phone. It didn’t feel right to go straight out and so I sat with the information for almost three days, letting the knowledge torture me.

“Is there something going on?” Dad had asked on day two, a concerned expression on his face as he watched me from his hospital bed. I’d tried to reassure him carefully to stop him from becoming suspicious but I probably failed miserably. He let it go quickly but I knew Marci wouldn’t if she caught me, so I stayed at Grandma’s for the duration of my mental crisis, away from prying Marci eyes.

Three days after receiving the address from Jessica, I stood outside a redbrick building, a plaque on the walling informing me I was at the right place. It was far superior to the photographs I’d seen of Dad’s first premises in that it didn’t look like it would fall down with a strong wind or give me a nasty case of stomach flu. It had nothing on Dad’s current place though, old and plain where his building was modern and classy. I pushed open the door myself and nobody stopped me, surprising me at the lack of security. I followed the signs and walked the staircase to the first floor where a lady not much older than me sat behind the glass door. She waved me through and I entered awkwardly.

“Hello, how can I help you today, Ma’am?” asked the woman from where she was sitting at a computer, pausing in her typing to send me a friendly smile.

“Hi,” I replied awkwardly, because despite my over-thinking of what to do with the Murdock situation, I hadn’t actually planned what I was going to say. “I was hoping to have an appointment with the lawyer, Mr Murdock?”

“Of course,” replied the clerk warmly. “May I ask what it is in relation to?”

I panicked for a minute before the phrase _attorney-client privilege_ floated into my brain. “I’d rather not disclose it without speaking to Mr Murdock, if that’s ok.”

The woman smiled again professionally, advising me to have a seat while she went to speak with her boss. There was only one seat to sit in and the entire reception room was very small, large enough to hold two desks with accompanying chairs and a third chair on its own as a mini waiting area. The seat I took was made of leather, looking old and worn but it felt sturdy and comfortable to sit in. As I waited, I looked around the room, taking in the few possessions and unable to stop myself from comparing it with Dad’s business which was intimidating in its size with all of the employees who worked for him.

I had just pulled out my phone and was twirling with it nervously when the clerk came back, summoning me with a wave of her hand.

“Mr Murdock has agreed to see you now. I’ll lead you into him.”

I followed her from the reception room/office into an even smaller room, connected by a door at the back wall. She ushered me into the room with a whisper before leaving herself, closing the door shut behind her. I watched her go before I summoned the nerve to look at the man behind the desk. I flinched suddenly as I realised it was really Matthew Murdock, even though I had been expecting to see him. He couldn’t be anyone except the man in the photographs, clearly twenty years older with wrinkles and grey streaking his dark hair but still undeniably handsome. There were sunglasses perched on his head and a cane leaning against his desk because he was blind, and somehow I’d never realised that in all the articles I’d read that _must_ have mentioned it.

It made me feel better, in a ‘I’m a horrible person’ kind of way because I knew then he wouldn’t be able to see me gaping at him like a fish.

He stood from the table to greet me politely, leaning forward to offer his hand to shake. I took it timidly, cringing at the thoughts that his first impression of me would be a limp handshake.

“Matthew Murdock,” he said, “a pleasure to meet you. Laura didn’t give me your name I’m afraid.”

He gestured at the free chair opposite his desk when he let go of my hand, sitting himself down. I lowered myself into it, anxiously perching on the edge of the cushion.

“I, er, didn’t tell her my name actually.”

Murdock’s eyebrows rose. “Are you currently concerned for the safety of your wellbeing?”

“Oh god no, sorry,” I said hurriedly. “It’s not like that, I don’t have the mob after me or anything.”

He looked amused, his eyes focusing somewhere just above my head. “So I _am_ allowed to know your name then?”

“Yes. It’s just, well, I was afraid you wouldn’t want to meet me if you knew what my name was.”

Murdock’s face changed to reflect his confusion. I rubbed at my chin in nervous habit, feeling some of the foundation I had on come off on my fingers.

“Why is that?” asked Murdock. “You’ve peaked my curiosity now. Is this the part where you tell me you’re the daughter of one of my most villainous clients or an ex-girlfri-”

“ _Madison_ ,” I interrupted him suddenly, feeling a small amount of bravery to tell him the truth. “My name is Madison, but most people call me Maddie. Maddie Nelson.”

All of the colour that had been in Murdock’s face drained rapidly from it and his expression turned hard. “I think you should go, Ms Nelson.”

“Please don’t sa-”

“I don’t think you should be here,” he said, not unkindly. He sat absolutely still in his chair, making no move physically to throw me out. “Your father would not be happy to know you came here.”

“You, you know who I am?”

“Yes,” answered Murdock simply. I watched him, waiting for him to speak again but he did not, his eyes sliding closed with a sigh instead.

“Have you, have you met me before? When I was little?”

“No. I’m sure your father would have done almost anything to keep me away from you, and likely still would.”

The words were flat and emotionless, but I imagined a huge amount of hurt and betrayal behind them.

“Dad has never ever told me about you,” I said, gazing at his face. A flinch rippled across it but was gone in a split second. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean that to be mean. It’s just that Dad has told me about so many things in his life, even really small and insignificant acquaintances of his from years ago. But he’s never once mentioned you and from what I have learned you were such a huge part of his life at one time.” _And he was in love with you_ , I finished mentally, willing him to hear the words I felt I couldn’t speak.

“That was a long time ago,” said Murdock. “I hurt your father very badly and that was the end of whatever friendship we had.”

“But-”

“ _No_ ,” insisted Murdock, sounding harsh for the first time. “You shouldn’t have come here. Foggy will be so mad at you when he finds out and I don’t blame him. You’re interfering in business that was decided nearly twenty years ago. It’s none of your concern.”

I stood up suddenly, feeling woozy and upset, swaying on my feet. “You’re wrong,” I replied, tears threatening to flow out of my eyes and stinging the back of my throat. “This affects my dad so it is my concern. Whatever you did all those years ago, it’s not too late to change.”

“Foggy doesn’t need you to fight his battles for him.”

“Maybe he does,” I argued, feeling the anger build up inside of me. “What would you know, you haven’t seen him in years? You don’t know the first thing about my father or what he needs! You don’t know _anything_ about him. I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea! Marci was right about you, you _are_ an asshole.”

Murdock stared at me with his mouth hanging open, obviously shocked by my outburst. I took no satisfaction from the expression and instead turned to flee from the office, running out past the clerk and ignoring her shouts behind me. I stormed down the stairs of the building and slammed the door as I left in good teenage fashion.

I ran most of the way to the subway station, pausing for a few seconds for some air here and there. I had no more energy to run on the other side, feeling tired and deflated both physically and emotionally. When she opened her front door, Marci took one look at my face and sighed before pulling me into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed over and over again as she rubbed circles in my back in an almost motherly way. “You were right, I’m sorry.”

“Sometimes,” muttered Marci, hard to hear above my wailing, “It’s freaky to see how much like your father you are.”

* * *

When Dad summoned me the following day, it was clear that I had been ratted out. We sat on his bed together, my feet curled underneath me and his legs stretched out.

“Marci told me about what happened,” said Dad carefully, watching my face for any reaction. I stopped meeting his gaze and looked at the floor. He hooked my chin in his hand and tilted it up so I could see his face. “Why didn’t you just ask me about it?”

“I didn’t want to make you upset.”

“I’m the adult here, Mads, you’re not supposed to be protecting my feelings. If you want to know something about me, you should just ask.” He brushed some of my hair out of my face tenderly.

“I just saw some old photographs,” I said, thinking about one in particular again. “And you looked so happy. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you look as happy as that. I wanted that for you, especially with how you’ve been sick and me going away to school. I wanted someone to make you happy like that again.”

Dad smiled sadly at me and dropped a kiss on my cheek. “All these years I thought you got your mom’s smarts and it turns out you’re just a big stupid softie like me. I am happy, you dummy. What you saw in those pictures were tiny moments where yeah, I was really freaking happy, because nobody took a photo anytime I was sad or angry or disappointed. My friendship with Matt started off really happy, but those happy times lessened more and more as the years went on until eventually I wasn’t ever happy anymore. _That’s why_ Matt and I stopped being friends.”

I let him pull me into a hug and I nodded against his chest. “I’m sorry for butting in.”

Dad laughed. “I love that you tried to help me, but next time remember that not everyone or everything needs to be fixed. It took me a long time to learn that lesson myself, don’t let the urge to fix things mess with your life too.

“Now,” said Dad again, shaking me slightly. “The doctors have actually promised they are discharging me tomorrow and you’ve got what, another three weeks left before you have to go back to school. What are we going to spend our time doing?”

* * *

Although he had been back walking for weeks and doing rehab in the swimming pool, Dad still wasn’t fit to drive by the time it came for me to return to school. I had offered to get trains or buses or catch a lift with one of the other students, but he had acted so offended I quickly shut up. How he convinced Marci to drive us all in his BMW I’ll never know because she hated driving and usually refused to do it.

“Blackmail,” complained Marci when I questioned her, saying no more on the subject.

“It’ll be so long before you’re home again,” moaned Grandma before we left, piling my arms full of Tupperware containers and leaving lipstick marks on my cheeks.

“Does she think they don’t feed me?” I muttered to Dad as he helped me shove the boxes of lasagne and cookies into the trunk.

“That’s exactly what she thinks,” he whispered back. “Just wait ‘til you see how she reacts when you go to college.”

We waved goodbye to her as Marci pulled away from the kerb, beginning the hour or so of a journey we had ahead of us. Dad chose to sit beside me in the back, murmuring his fears for his life if he sat shotgun.

“I heard that!” exclaimed Marci, swerving to avoid a cyclist. Dad and I grinned at each other, both of us reaching instantaneously to hold a door for support.

The trip passed pleasantly and too quickly and before I realised it, we were pulling into the driveway. Marci, who had never visited before, whistled as the wheels of our car crunched along the gravel.

“Wow, this is some place,” she said, sounding impressed. “What’s that over there?”

“The tennis courts and running track,” I informed her, amused at her reaction. I instructed her on where to pull up, seeing a couple of other cars parked up and both adults and children milling around casually.

As the car rolled to a stop, a woman knocked on my window and waved. I opened the car door with a grin.

“Hello, Professor Monroe,” I greeted her, nodding politely.

“You’re very welcome back, Madison. There’ll be dinner waiting for you in the kitchens when you’ve said goodbye to your parents.”

The teacher politely said hello to Dad and Marci before drifting off to speak with other adults I didn’t know, likely someone else’s parents. Both of mine had climbed out of the car, Dad already pulling some of my stuff out of the car while Marci nosily looked around, surveying the property from behind her Ray Bans.

“So this is us for another year,” said Dad, ruffling my hair. “Marci will drive back and pick you up for the October holidays.”

“ _Marci_ is never driving you anywhere again,” corrected the woman. “Next time, Foggy can pay someone to chauffeur you. It’s not like he doesn’t have the cash to do it.”

I took turns to hug them both, feeling a little sad at the fact that it would be so long before I saw them again. I loved school but I hated the fact that it was so far away from them, even if it was only an hour by road. I took hold of all the bags I could carry, enlisting the help of another kid to lift all of Grandma’s food inside by promising him a box of cookies. Both Dad and Marci watched as I went inside, waving with big smiles on their faces.


End file.
